


The Trickster Raven and the Taloned Falcon: A Fairy Tale of Russian Origins

by goldstraw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, Fairy Tale Style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstraw/pseuds/goldstraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Maid of Tarth? The Knight of Tarth? Man or woman? Lord’s daughter or Lord’s son? </p><p>Prince Jaime is determined to find out.</p><p> </p><p>Part of the Jaime x Brienne Halloween Challenge - a re-working of the Russian fairy tale "Vasilisa, the Priest's Daughter."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trickster Raven and the Taloned Falcon: A Fairy Tale of Russian Origins

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to memorde and openmouthwideeye for being fabulous betas and getting this story into the shape it deserves!
> 
> Enjoy!

IN A certain land, in a certain kingdom, there was a Lord named the Evenstar who had a daughter named Brienne of Tarth. She wore a man's clothes, rode horseback, had an expert sword arm, and did everything in a quite un-womanly way, so that very few people saw her and thought that she was a girl. Indeed, most people of the land and of the kingdom supposed that she was a man, called her ser and even believed her to be a knight. This was all the more so because Brienne was as tall and as broad as a man, her hair sheared short, and her finely fitted blue armour was worn as a second skin. This, as was well known, was entirely unbecoming of a maiden, a Lord’s daughter at that, but she cared little for the thoughts and opinions of others, or so it was alleged.

One day the Kingslayer— for that was the name given long ago to the prince and heir of that kingdom— went to hunt game with a host in the forests that bordered his home and the Evenstar’s.  Quite suddenly they came across the Tarth knight, striking a sword against a tree. Though the prince had approached not un-quietly, the fighting creature remained entranced by its pursuits; their muscles coming alive, the sweat glistening on their forehead, the grunts as the knight hit and hit and hit with the force of iron.

Now, the prince had also heard about the knight’s unlikely sex and decided that this was the perfect opportunity to find out if the rumours were true. “Seven hells, stop damaging my trees!” he called out to the tall figure.

The knight froze, turning and rising to their full height, sword by their side, ready to strike again.

As the prince approached, he could not understand what he saw in front of him. Amusement clashed with curiosity on his handsome face. _A huge, shambling, ugly thing who dressed in mail! This diversion was turning out to be highly entertaining!_

Laughter broke out in the forest as the figure moved to cover themselves with the hood of their cape. The prince led the taunts, asking his friends with great seriousness:  “Who is this beast that haunts these woods?”

“A beast? No, I do not think so. Mayhaps a freak of nature?” replied one.

“Ahh, the monster that our old wet nurses warned us of!” agreed another.

The prince joined in heartily as he circled the figure, his own sword in his hand, letting its tip brush against the thing’s woollen cloak. “It does not even know how to bow or scrape to us! It does not move, it does not speak!” he scoffed.

More gales of laughter hung in the misty air as the knight remained still, head bowed.

The prince grew restless at the silence that met him. “Reveal yourself then, or I will have you taken and sent to the Wall. They need beasts up there.”

The knight’s lips tightened for a moment before they tugged off their cape. The act revealed messy blonde hair, cheeks pink between the freckles and furious sky blue eyes. A smear of blood caught the knight’s jaw fiercely, echoing their knuckles. By the next breath, the knight had fled into the eve’s gloom.

The Kingslayer snorted and pulled a face in disappointment. “So the rumours were only that… the knight of Tarth is just a giant of a man. How dull.”

“No, no, my lord,” spoke up a man by the name of Hunt. “Trust me, that was no mere man, but the maid of Tarth. I know for a certainty that she is the daughter of the Evenstar.”

“That thing was a girl?” asked the prince, face full of mirth. “Come now, Hunt, what fool do you take me for? A son of the Evenstar might be nearer the truth… but what I saw was no lady, I am sure of that.” he said, gazing at the churned mud and slashed tree: the only evidence of the disturbed peace.

Hunt shrugged and turned his horse away. “Not all women were as pleasing to the eye as your sister was.”

The prince stiffened in his seat. “No. She put all others into shadow. But even so— why would a wench dress like a man, and pretend to be a knight? I cannot comprehend it.”

“Who can say, my lord? But I hear she makes for good sport—” As they turned for home, Hunt kept his prince entertained with tales of wagers and base jokes about maidenhoods.

The question aired that night in the forest had sprung roots in the prince’s mind, an annoying grain of sand against smooth, unblemished skin. And as with all itches, it must be scratched. So as soon as the prince returned home he sent a raven with a letter to the Lord Evenstar, requesting the man send his son to visit him at court for one evening.

As he waited for the reply, his curiosity for the truth grew and grew until he could bear it no longer. It was then he remembered his sister’s childhood stories about Maggy the Frog, a little old woods-witch from Lannisport. It was said that the old woman could predict the future and only speak the truth. After searching and searching, the Kingslayer was finally pointed to the circle of tents that held the witch. Striding up to the entrance and ducking inside, he opened his mouth to question her.

The witch looked up with twinkling eyes. “Ahh. The other twin. The sole twin now.”

He glared back, unsettled by the humour in the old woman’s voice. “My sister’s death amuses you?”

“I have no opinion on that fact. I only know the truth. Now, yesterday, tomorrow? It does not matter to me. The truth is always here.”

His hand went to the hilt of his sword. “Then answer me this, and I will spare you—”

The woman cocked her head. “Years pass and yet the threats from golden fools are ever the same.”

Confused, he forced his hand away, determined not to ruin his chances of finding his answer. He couldn’t quite bring himself to offer the decrepit old woman one of his charming smiles, but he kept her gaze.

The witch hissed a sigh. “But… you are a different soul. I see that now. Very well, I will help you to find your answer— an answer you would not find unless you stripped the Evenstar’s child of their clothes. A son or a maid in disguise – that is what you wish to discover, is it not?”

The prince’s mouth gaped open and shut again. “I— yes. That is what I came for.”

Giving a knowing look, a wicked smile and a tap of her wrinkled fingers on his hand, the little old witch said to him: "Hang a frame of embroidery on the right side of your chambers, and on the left, a sword. If this individual is really the daughter of the Evenstar, they will first notice the embroidery frame; but if they are his son, they will notice the sword."

So the prince followed the little old witch's advice and ordered his servants to hang an embroidery frame and a golden sword in his chambers.

Meanwhile, Brienne had told her father about the encounter, and he in turn showed her the letter the prince had sent.

“Venerable Lord Evenstar,” wrote the Kingslayer, “Permit your son to attend me in my palace and break bread with me at the royal table.”

Brienne sighed softly.

“Is this because he wishes to dine with a neighbour,” asked her father astutely. “Or a good fighter like himself?”

Brienne caught her bottom lip between her teeth and shrugged. “I’m a good fighter, whether you call me a man or a woman. But he wants me to eat with him precisely because he doesn’t know. Am I a man? Am I a woman? Am I the son of a lord? Or his daughter?” Her fists clenched as her anger grew. “Poor Kingslayer! He’s so desperate, I hear he’s asking old crones for advice now. And yet it’s always the women they malign for their idle curiosity.”

Her father noted the bitterness in her voice. “Perhaps you should play the game for once, my dear?”

_The Maid of Tarth? The Knight of Tarth? Man or woman? Lord’s daughter or Lord’s son?_

As her father’s words sunk deep, Brienne realised she could not avoid accepting the prince’s request. She would make him guess and keep guessing until he could not hide his prying anymore. The feeling of victory when she proved him wrong was one she could not resist.

Brienne saddled a grey horse with a grey mane and galloped over to the palace. She could barely keep her animosity from showing when the prince greeted her, his suspicions superbly concealed behind false words of courtesy. She made herself bow low and motioned the sign of the Seven as is prescribed in that land, gratifying the prince with her formal greeting.

They sat together at the table and began to drink and eat. Brienne was nervous as a hare, jumping at every sound.

The prince watched carefully. “Please, ser. You must make yourself comfortable. We are, of course, just two men sharing a meal. I am a prince but that should make no matter in this simple act.”

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion but cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound a little deeper. “Of course, my lord. I am most honoured.”

“Oh, it is my pleasure. Now, tell me about where you come from? I should know all my subjects.”

The rest of the conversation felt stilted, but the prince was so hospitable and so charming throughout the evening that Brienne felt a tiny twinge of guilt at her deception—though not for long. The prince, after all, was hoping to dupe her too, feigning unconcern about her sex. She waited, alert, for him to spring the trap the old woman had advised her lay for her. But she encountered none and the evening came to an end.

Finally, he walked Brienne to the hall, thanking her for her presence and saying how much he had enjoyed the evening. As she reluctantly returned his thanks and compliments, her eye fell on a tapestry hanging beside a display of swords, daggers, and other weapons. The vivid tapestry was only significant by virtue of being on a wall amid a collection of armaments, but because the watered wine Brienne had drunk relaxed her, she spoke without restraint.

“How strange to hang a tapestry among your swords, Kingslayer,” she remarked, head tilted innocently so she did not see him twitch at the name. “And not one I would expect to find in a palace! You’ll find in my father’s castle, there is no trace of such womanly pursuits, but it seems that in Lannister chambers, such prettiness hangs in your chambers with no shame!”

And Brienne swept out of the palace before the prince could open his mouth to respond. As soon he recovered his wits he grimaced and turned the air blue, utterly frustrated at his plan being undermined so easily.

And so two days later— no more— he again sent a letter to the Lord Evenstar, asking him to send his son to the palace. This time Brienne did not hesitate. She remembered his face after foiling his trick; the disbelief that he had not won outright was too sweet not to be seen again.  So she went to the stable, saddled a grey horse with a grey mane, and rode straight to the prince’s palace. He received her as innocuously as before. She graciously greeted him, politely said her prayers to the Gods, made the sign of the Seven, and bowed low.

This time, the prince had been advised by the little old woods-witch to order sweet porridge cooked for supper and have it stuffed with pearls. “A woman will know they are pearls and store them in a corner to take home,” she had assured the prince. “A man will think they are stones and fling them under the table.”

Suppertime came. The prince sat at table and placed her on his right hand, and they began to drink and eat. This time the conversation reached matters of battles and jousts. The prince found his stuttering partner flourish as they argued and agreed on everything from the best ways to take down an opponent to their sweetest win at a tourney.  All too soon, the sweet porridge was served, but when Brienne took a spoonful of it and discovered a pearl, she flung it under the table together with the rest of the porridge and began to reproach the Kingslayer. "What frippery do they put in your porridge?" she said, making herself sound completely indignant. "In my father's castle there is no trace of such womanly frippery anywhere, yet in the Lannister palace, womanly frippery is put in the food!" Standing, she left the room and the palace before the prince could say a word in his defence.

Once again, the prince was left in a state of confusion quite unlike he had ever experienced before. Once again it was reported to Brienne that the prince was quite despondent about his failure to ascertain whether she was a man or a woman. And once again, she allowed herself a little smile at her success in hiding the truth.

When the prince returned to the witch in a fit of pique, the old hag once again gave him a knowing look, a wicked smile and a tap of her wrinkled fingers on his hand.

“Your guest cast them under the table, didn’t they?” she said. “That must mean he’s a man.”

“He may have thrown them under the table,” argued the prince, “but he knew they were pearls. So we have achieved nothing.”

“You are achieving all that your future holds,” the witch said, her eyes piercing the prince’s armour. “There is one more test you might consider. Be careful however, for this may hurt both if you fail.”

And so, the prince persisted and the third invitation arrived. Again it was addressed to the Lord Evenstar, again it invited his child to break bread with the prince, and again Brienne mounted her grey mare with a grey mane and rode over to the palace.

By now, though, she was beginning to wonder how long before her amusement turned to boredom, then irritation. And yet, there was half of her that looked forward to seeing the prince and meeting the challenges he set for her. He was a generous host and an entertaining companion, and time passed pleasantly with him. And oh, how Brienne enjoyed a challenge! Slowly, she was beginning to find simple conversation as thrilling as the parry and thrust of a blade. And, quite unbelievably, she found the Kingslayer—the man who had taunted and bullied her— to be a worthy partner, delicate in his ability to draw her into speaking, beguile her thoughts, and amuse her despite herself.

Indeed, never once did he let her see he had anything on his mind other than to enjoy her company. The company of the Evenstar’s son, Ser Tarth. His jokes were just that bit risqué, but never enough to overstep the mark. His questions were just that bit leading, but never enough to betray he was investigating her, sizing her up, testing the waters. He was a wily one, was the Kingslayer. She supposed he had to be: he had not honed those skills across the table with a single guest, but in consequential halls and courts with ministers and kings speaking over matters of state, of life and death, war and peace. No, there was no doubt that the prince was astute and artful, as determined as the lion that adorned his sigil

So that night, as Brienne entered the now-familiar hall of the prince, she looked around her carefully as she offered her customary prayer for king and country and crossed herself, bowing east and west and north and south. Was there anything new on the walls? Anything unusual about the place? Anything she should be wary of? Nothing—or at least nothing she could immediately identify.

She straightened and followed the prince into the dining hall. As usual, he plied her with food and wine and they discussed the best methods of marksmanship and boasted of their respective achievements in hunting and arguing and riddling. For a brief moment, she had a hope flare brightly in her chest. _Has the prince decided to give up his investigation? Does he enjoy my company so much that he has ceased to care?_

But the Kingslayer’s next word reminded Brienne that the crafty prince was doing his job so well that he had succeeded in diverting her.

“Tarth, we have been friends for some time now. And we have eaten together on several occasions—and told each other many things. So I do not think it would be out of place to ask if you would like to share a bath with me tonight. It is drawn and heated, if you would like to join me in the royal bathhouse, I should be delighted. Then we can enjoy each other’s company awhile longer.”

Brienne’s face flushed and blushed, but she would not be the one to lose the game. She found her strongest voice and said: “Why, my lord, what a privilege! It is a long time since my last bath, and what is more enticing than a hot bath with plenty of water? After all, steam is to the skin what rain is to the hardened earth.” She bowed deeply. “I should be honoured to accept.”

Well, he was in the seventh heaven of delight. Now he would be bound to discover the truth. He led her immediately to the bathhouse, where an attendant entered to help him disrobe. In the next room, she quickly undressed and slipped into the bath, knowing that she had to be first in and last to leave to keep her myth alive.

But he was quicker than she realised and she found she could not escape without giving everything away.  She warily watched him cross the room and step into her bath. “There is another tub, my lord,” she said, a panicked note clear in her voice.

A laugh echoed in the airy room. “This is my bathhouse, I’ll sit where I please. Are you afraid I will find out your secret?”

She bristled at his provocative tone and sunk lower into the water. “I have none.”

“But the largest of them all, of course.”

“I have hidden nothing from you. You are the one who wants to know if I am a man or a woman and cannot tell.”

He stilled for a moment, gazing at her over an arm’s span of water. She felt like he was searching her very soul. Eventually, he spoke, more quietly and seriously than before. “I find myself with the answer I was searching for after all, despite your most emphatic intentions to persuade me otherwise. But you must know that whatever you are, or want to be, I have found your company to be better than most.”

She suddenly became as hot as the water that came up to her chin. “I have only been a game to you—a game you wanted to see me lose,” she snapped back.

The green in his eyes burnt bright. “I’m offering my surrender, can’t you see? I wish to continue— I mean to say that I do not want our encounters to end. They are no longer a game, nor a trick to me—“

“And how can I trust your word?” she asked softly.

She had barely got the words out before he stepped towards her, his face a breath away from hers. Up close, he realised that her astonishing eyes were too soft to ever belong to a man. Perhaps he had been blind that first time he saw them.

“I will prove it to you, my lady.”

“My lady?” she murmured. “You have no right to call me that.” Her eyes dropped to the scant dark water that now lay between them.

“What should I call you then?” he asked plainly, his voice as clear as the path his fingers traced over her cheek, chasing a droplet across her freckles.

She looked up, defiant of how his touches were making her feel. “You may call me Brienne, if you must. And yes, I am the _daughter_ of Tarth, but I am also her _knight_ and always will be.”

His fingers became a palm, a thumb on her chin— “ _Brienne_. But you must call me Jaime in return. I cannot abide you calling me _Kingslayer_. ”

She gave him a look of ill-concealed distaste at the name, and her knowledge of its origins.

He stiffened; she could feel the pressure of his fingers on her face, a cool shadow sweeping the room. “You’ve spilled your secrets. I still have mine,” he said darkly.

“I _gave_ you what I thought to hide for many years,” she answered quietly.

He raised an eyebrow at her gentle parry. “I know. I fully intend to return the honour of your confidence.”

And with the swapping of their true names and their true histories, true love did blossom between the lady and the lord.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love!


End file.
